In the realms of divinity and nutmeg, where the silver, sliver fingernail moon hangs like an alarm in the quest for the hour, as the world hangs in the balance, the zoom and Zulus, where a fine line is discovered somewhere between the Sinai and Kilimanjaro, where you and the world unify in a cosmic leap (a quantum delirium), and absurdity doesn’t even get in the way any longer, because beauty and truth and good health and a fat purse and tapas served in a 100 year old hotel and everything, every moment, is that last chance to hear the music, to dance the jig, to lift thyne eyes up to the spiritual distinction that is everything, everywhere and every-when—anyway.

So this day, when you have your hands in your pockets, when you rise up to meet the warm winds, when you sleep enough to wake the dead—take two plus two and still get one; add in the eternal factor, and the decided pull between pluralism and unification, and every added element comes up to be one, 1, won, within you (the mad man in an insane world) but somehow, for you and me, for the brethren, it all still works out, clockwork, like orange, a substitute between what is and what can be; and somewhere on the coast (in a tide pool) along the whale-watching peers, where the seagulls light down, where a flock of pelicans fly just over the waves,  there is that fingernail moon smiling sideways. 

And you hope and pray and rehearse another miracle in your head: walking on water; changing water to wine; the absolute miracle of water itself; the creation of life itself; whence came the creation of you—of your conjugations shaped and sharp and languid imaginations that quiver in the soft winds, that oscillate and gyrate on the axis of earth: Your home, your “earth ship,” your oyster; for everything that is, can be, will be, and the technology of your very spirit (and essence) is a comingling—genuflections in a “moon dance,” a “bonfire of your vanities,” a slur of words in the circumlocution of ‘round and ‘round you go, where you stop is…right here, near the moon; “see the moon.”

And you think and understand that the mind is tethered to infinite intelligence, to the cosmic swoop, the pelicans, the moon and the stars and the plebiscites who turn down the epiphanies, the sheets before a sleep: The realizations that you are a revelation at work, your play ethics gone down the straight and narrow in song, in lutes and sitars and the fingertips of the Himalayas strike a pose, reach so far into the heavens, that if you might get a chance to fly over them, you finally will realize, become, change your name to cosmic Joe or Sherpa Katmandu, as you come back from memory and hope and wonder (to that place by the sea) the eternal flow, the in and out of the tides that point to Atlantis, Xanadu, Camelot, the lands of milk and honey, the place of lore and myth that is the very quintessence of who you have become, through years of wisdom, discovery and blatant living on the edge of a distant dream, on a whim and a wish, playing hopscotch on the colored-sidewalk-chalk-days of children and ideals and exotic travel that opens up a soul, that breaks apart the closed mind: Lifts one up into the 10,000 things that pose as separation, and are but the perplexity of a certainty that keeps us all together in a world of perfection—See that fingernail moon on the horizon (for all to see) from California to Taiwan, New Deli, Palermo, Whitefish to Reno and Rio.

It is all here, where ever you are.  See, feel, become, realize as the phosphorescence, the magic of huckleberries in Kalispell, draw the same conclusion: Conjugate the world so the magic seeps out and drips off the pointy edge of the shy moon smiling back at you.

As the founder of One Business Connection and author of “The Power of One,” Greg Petri is an acclaimed expert at this, that and the other thing. For more information contact Mr. Petri directly at 303-818-2460.